All I Ask of You
by jennyfair
Summary: Short phics inspired by ask games/writing prompts on Tumblr. A mix of pairings (E/C, R/C, Erik/mannequin) and genres (ALW, Leroux, LND, modern AU, Angel of Music AU).
1. Beach

Three sentence fic pairing/prompt: E/C, beach _(LND-based)_

* * *

Erik stared out into the waves, watching them dance and swallow up the ashes carried by the breeze. There would be no grave to weep over or visit with Gustave in the years to come, but he could not bear to commit her to the wormy earth, and she had always loved the sea…

"Christine, I love you."


	2. Fluffy

Three sentence fic pairing/prompt: Erik/Mannequin, fluffy

* * *

Erik adjusted the fur wrap around his companion's shoulders to shield her from the cool night air. He'd paid the brougham driver handsomely not to ask questions, but the expense was well worth it. She had never looked more beautiful than she did now, with the moonlight gleaming on her flawless waxen cheek.


	3. Why is there a piano on my cake?

Three sentence fic pairing/prompt: modern E/C, "why is there a piano on my cake?"

* * *

"Because I wanted to make something special for you!"

"I appreciate that, love, but…Fisher Price?" Erik asked, wrinkling what was left of his nose as he plunked out a few notes on the brightly-colored plastic monstrosity topping his birthday cake.

He promptly choked on the slice she cut for him as Christine continued, "…and for the baby."


	4. Old secrets revealed

Three sentence fic pairing/prompt: the managers, old secrets revealed _(I have no idea where this came from but I think I invented a new ship lol)_

* * *

"What violinist?" Firmin asked gruffly as they retreated to the wings, still sizing up the Daaé girl with a healthy dose of skepticism. But André wasn't listening, already lost in memories from years past - of returning to the fair time and time again, enchanted by the fair-haired violinist who played as if the angels themselves had taught him. He brushed off the question and pretended to focus on the daughter, while his heart still ached for the father.


	5. Angst

Three sentence fic pairing/prompt: modern E/C, angst

* * *

Erik tells himself it will be the last time, every time. But each night he fails to keep his promise, berating himself as he remotely accesses Christine's webcam to catch one last glimpse of her face before she goes to bed. His angel - unreachable and perfect, even in the harsh blue glow of her laptop screen.


	6. Too many miles between us

Mini fic pairing/prompt: E/C, #15 "things you said with too many miles between us" _(LND-based)_

* * *

The sea and sky were inky black when Erik finally dared to venture out onto the deck of the freighter. All the vastness of the world laid before him after years spent locked away in a tomb, yet still he could only skulk about under the cover of night. Even when his Angel had returned to him, warm and willing and alive, it had been in darkness.

The salt air was stinging and sweet, but it was not enough to drive away the ghost of her scent filling his nose, her taste flooding his twisted mouth. The ever-present roar of the waves did nothing to silence her voice in his mind. He would have to learn to content himself with the memory of her - his greatest treasure and greatest torment, all at once. Even without an ocean separating them, his Christine was no longer his. The laws of god and men meant little to Erik, but he knew that she would keep the vows she had undoubtedly exchanged with her young man by now.

"Oh, god...what have I done?"


	7. At the kitchen table

Mini fic pairing/prompt: Erik/Mannequin, #13 - things you said at the kitchen table _(modern AU where the mannequin is a RealDoll, sorry not sorry)_

* * *

"Last night was...incredible," Erik confessed softly, glancing up from his coffee to his companion across the kitchen table. Her own mug sat untouched in front of her. The mask was firmly in place again, but he still patted it self-consciously to make certain. She hadn't objected to him removing it the previous evening after he'd turned off the lights...or to any of the other requests he'd made in the darkness...but old habits died hard

When she'd finally come to him, shown up at his door after weeks of impatient wishing and waiting, he hadn't hesitated to scoop her into his arms and carry her straight to the bedroom. She hadn't teased him about his clumsy fingers as he'd fumbled to remove her clothes, or laughed when his passion had spilled over far too quickly. After all, that had only meant more time for her own pleasure - for him to begin the process of mapping every inch of her perfect frame. And, if Erik was honest with himself, her reassuring weight on the mattress beside him afterwards had been worth every penny.


	8. While we were driving

Mini fic pairing/prompt: #7 - things you said while we were driving _(E/C, a modern take on "The Mysterious Brougham" from Leroux)_

* * *

Christine rested her head against the car door and rolled down the window to breathe in the night air, smog and all. It was the closest she could get to freedom when Erik "requested" her presence at his penthouse for days or weeks at a time.

She had asked if they could go for a drive and he had agreed, seemingly pleased that she would seek out his company in such close quarters - had even smiled, as far as she could tell by the way his amber eyes had crinkled behind the mask. Her hopes of secretly passing a note to César for Raoul had dimmed when Erik had slipped behind the wheel of the jet-black sedan himself.

"Wouldn't you rather close the window?"

His words were tense, his knuckles white as he clutched the gearshift and stared forward at the red light. Christine wasn't sure why his mood had soured so quickly until she spotted a familiar figure on the opposite corner - waving wildly and calling her name. She gasped as Raoul nearly ran out into traffic, stumbling back when a cab sped by in a honking blur of yellow.

"_Christine_."

Normally when Erik said her name, it was with a reverence bordering on blasphemy, but she knew this tone just as well - an unmistakable warning, a dark cloud gathering above their heads. After a final moment's hesitation, she flicked the switch and the tinted glass slid up to dampen the sight and sound of the outside world. It was only the two of them again, alone in a city of millions.


	9. Under the stars and in the grass

Mini fic pairing/prompt: 6) things you said under the stars and in the grass _(R/C, modern Leroux AU)_

* * *

"Do we really have to go?" she pleaded as Raoul tugged at the picnic blanket in an unsuccessful attempt to get her to move. Christine had practically taken root beneath her favorite tree in the park. The sun had set some time ago and the city glow made for poor stargazing, but it was the most relaxed she'd felt in weeks and she had no desire to return to reality quite yet. "I'd say so - it's almost eleven."

_Eleven…so late already?_

"Just two more minutes. Please?" She grinned as Raoul gave up with a groan of mock-annoyance and joined her on the blanket. Holding him close, she imagined a shooting star behind the clouds and wished that this moment could last forever…

Christine awoke with a start and tried to sit up, but a splitting headache forced her back down. _When had she fallen asleep? _ Raoul was gone, the night sky replaced by a stark white ceiling. _How had she gotten home?_ She rubbed at her throbbing temples and waited for her eyes to adjust to the dark. _No, not home_…

She knew the room by its elegant modern furnishings, no doubt purchased from stores she'd be too embarrassed even to enter. Erik had taken great pains in designing it for her - a gilded cage most songbirds would envy. Christine choked back a sob as the truth of the past twenty-four hours came flooding back in an unstoppable wave. That peaceful day at the park had been a dream. Would only ever be a dream, now.

The door opened and her eyes snapped shut in the hope that if she kept still enough, Erik might think she was still unconscious. He'd told her to sleep on it, after all - hushing her and cautioning her not to strain her voice as the needle pierced her skin and her desperate cries for mercy faded into silence. A tear slipped out from beneath her lashes, betraying her. There was a sigh, and the cool press of Erik's fingers against her cheek as he gently brushed it away.

"It's eleven o'clock, Christine."


	10. After she went home

Mini fic pairing/prompt: 23) things you said after she went home, Erik/Mannequin

* * *

She was waiting patiently for him when he returned below. His bespoke bride - not living, yet undying. Ever faithful. "You can come out now, my dear. I've taken her back above." _For now._ Erik removed the sheet he had draped over the mannequin the night before, sighing as he revealed her crumpled frame. "If only you had behaved..." he chided with a cluck of the tongue. He shouldn't have left her in disarray for so long, but also hadn't wanted to risk startling Christine any further after that first mishap. _Oh, but she had a rude awakening all the same, didn't she? _

Standing her up straight, Erik guided her lifeless limbs into more natural angles and gently tested her joints, noting which needed tightening. "If I didn't know better, I might think you did it on purpose." He cupped her chin, tilting her face this way and that, watching how her glass eyes sparkled in the candlelight. "Jealousy is not becoming on you, my beauty." Even as he admonished her, he tried not to compare the unyielding wax skin of the mannequin to the warmth and exquisite softness of her flesh-and-blood counterpart.

"After all, she _will_ come back." He adjusted the veil and tucked a stray curl behind the sculpted shell of her ear. "No thanks to you," he teased, his mood already improving as he restored his world to order piece by piece. Erik pressed a kiss to the back of each hand before closing them around the bouquet once more. "She only needs time. She'll see both of us differently, in time…"


	11. Things that I wasn't meant to hear

Mini fic pairing/prompt: 20) Things that I wasn't meant to hear, E/C or C/R _(musical E/C)_

* * *

"Christine, I love you."

Simple words. Exceedingly common yet absent from my own speech until this very moment. And now that the dam has burst, I cannot stem the flood. They tumble from my twisted mouth again and again as she turns from me with tears in her eyes. As the warmth from her skin fades and my ring is once more only lifeless metal in my hand.

I would have drowned her in those words every day for the rest of my life. Recited them in sonnets. Thundered them in symphonies. Prayed them in silence with worshipful hands and teeth and tongue...but she is gone. I will never speak them again, and was never meant to hear them in return.

Helpless, I follow her to the threshold of my tomb. While she has crossed it, I am doomed to remain. The boat and her young man carry her ever further from me, her light dissolving into the darkness. I watch in disbelief as she looks back upon her fallen Angel one last time. As her perfect lips part and form the shape of those simple, blessed words for me alone to see.

_I love you_.


	12. I hear you

Three sentences fic (or longer) using "I hear you" as dialogue. _(E/C, a blend of Leroux and ALW)_

* * *

"I've waited two years. _Two years_, and still nothing."

Erik paused in the hidden corridor, not expecting to hear anything on the other side of the wall. He only ever visited the dancers' dressing room when it was empty, to tie a shoe ribbon in knots or "misplace" a hairbrush. Harmless pranks to amuse himself and ensure that the Opera Ghost's salary continued to be paid on time.

"You promised…"

Moving silently like a proper phantom, Erik crept along the passageway until he reached the two-way mirror. There were several like it installed throughout the Opera - his windows into the world above. He peered through, expecting to find one of the _petits rats_ embroiled in some lover's quarrel, but the young woman was alone. She sat at the vanity, hands clasped tightly in prayer and head bowed before the portrait of a fair-haired man. With a stifled sob, she rose and approached the mirror.

He recognized her from the chorus. Christine Daaé. She was a timid thing, a foreigner and seemingly friendless other than the Giry girl. No patron. No admirers waiting for her with flowers and platitudes after a performance. Her voice was pleasant enough, on the rare occasion he could hear it above the rest of the ensemble. Erik kept perfectly still as she wiped at her eyes and pinched the color back into her cheeks. A private visit from the Ghost would not improve her mood, he was certain.

"I tried to be patient, Pappa. Truly, I did. But I...I've waited long enough." She squared her shoulders and stared into her own reflection. Erik stooped to match the level of her gaze, intrigued by the feeling of being seen while remaining invisible. "There is _no such thing_ as the Angel of Music."

Her chin was set at a determined angle even as her fingers twisted nervously in the folds of her gown. From her demeanor, Erik sensed that this Angel of Music was sacred to her, and that it had taken a sizeable measure of courage to speak such blasphemy. There was a spark inside this little sparrow, the hint of a firebird desperate to rise from the ashes...but as quickly as it had appeared, it began to fade. He watched as her face crumpled and fresh tears doused the lights in her eyes.

He should have left straight away and haunted some other corner of the Opera. The poor girl did not need a witness to her pain, least of all a hideous creature who lurked so closely now that his breath fogged the glass. Christine Daaé was nothing and no one to him. Why, then, this sudden desire to fan those dying flames? Why this kindred fire set to burning behind his ribs? He _knew_ her, Erik realized. Her despair, her loneliness - they echoed his own.

A single thought possessed his mind. A different sort of trick; one meant to inspire hope instead of fear. An Angel was not so very different from a Ghost, after all…

Erik began to sing - softly, at first, throwing his voice across the room. It was the first Swedish song he could recall from his travels, a hymn about Lazarus rising from the grave. It seemed fitting, somehow. She gasped and spun around in search of the music's source, the doubt in her expression giving way to wonder as the melody swelled and surrounded her.

"Angel? _I hear you._"


	13. I told you not to fall for me

Imagine/Oneshot Prompt: "I told you not to fall for me."_ (E/C, literal Angel of Music AU, last line adapted from Leroux)_

* * *

She had warned him not to fall.

It had been quite a shock, when she had looked into his eyes and not through them. Most humans did not see angels - not because they _could not_, because they _would not_. It was almost as if she had been expecting him. How many eons had he spent unseen, nothing more than an invisible muse? She flourished under his tutelage, her voice rising from the earth to join the heavenly choirs. As she became more angelic, he became more human. It was not enough to see and hear her. He wanted to touch her, to love her…

But falling _burned_.

When came to her in this new form - ugly and mortal - she wept and covered her eyes. The woman who had dared gaze at an angel could not bear to look at the man of twisted flesh and blood kneeling before her. He took her hands for the first time and pressed them to the horror of his face. She would understand - he would _make _her understand. He had done it all for her. For _love_.

"It is true, Christine. I am not an Angel...I am Erik!"


	14. Ghost

Inktober 2019 Day #22 - Ghost (_E/C, Angel of Music AU, see previous chapter_)

* * *

The first time she saw him, Christine brushed it off as a trick of the light. She often perceived shapes in the shadows, only to have them vanish when she tried to look closer. As a child, her father said she had the gift to see things others could not. As an adult, she chalked it up to too much stress and too little sleep.

The next time, she started to think she was being haunted by a ghost. He lingered in the corner for hours, an indistinct figure accompanied by a strange electricity in the air. After closing up shop, she dusted off the upright piano to play a tune that had been in her head all day, singing along softly. Sampling the merchandise usually did the trick to calm her nerves. It also seemed to please her unconventional guest. He drew nearer with each note, but when she turned and met his golden gaze, he disappeared.

The third time, Christine was afraid she was losing her mind. She commanded him (if it was a _him_) to speak and reveal himself.

"You truly see me?"

His voice was unlike anything she had ever heard. She nodded, too shocked that the vision had responded at all to do anything else.

"I am the Angel of Music."

What stood before her seemed to be a tall, thin man in dark clothes. Weren't angels supposed to be terrifying creatures, covered in eyes and wings and wheels of fire? If he _were_ an angel, he would tell her not to be afraid then send her on a mission from God. Maybe he wasn't an angel, but a demon in disguise…

No. _No_. None of this was real. Her grief had manifested itself into the form of one of her father's stories, nothing more. She needed to talk to someone, _anyone_, not a figment of her imagination.

"Leave me alone!"

* * *

Angel, ghost, demon. Whatever he was, at least he was polite enough to stay away when asked. A week passed with no sign of him, but the damage had already been done - old wounds reopened more easily than they would heal over again.

Her father had poured himself into his music following her mother's death, claiming her spirit had sent the Angel of Music from heaven to inspire him. Christine never believed in his fantasies, but she envied the comfort they had given him. When her father passed not long after, there had been no such divine intervention for her.

Had her parents sent her the Angel at last, or was she sharing a delusion with a dead man? There was one way to find out…

She called him by the only name she knew.

"Angel?"

She dreaded the silence she had expected from him before.

"Yes, Christine?"

He still seemed like a man, except that he had materialized from thin air. She would ask him about the lack of wings later. There were a thousand questions for _later_. For now, one weighed most heavily on her mind.

"Did…did you appear to my dad, too?"

"I have come to many throughout the ages, in some way or another."

Christine's heart sank. To this heavenly being, her father was one of billions upon billions of lives. Unremarkable, insignificant. She was a fool to think she could have a piece of her _Pappa_ back, other than the legacy he had already left her - a failing second-hand music store and a pile of debt. Before she could send her visitor away for good, he spoke again.

"Gustave Daaé never saw me, as you do…but yes. He knew me."

The angel gestured towards the piano and she took a seat on the bench, unable to disobey that otherworldly voice. Without making a sound or touching her, she heard him whisper a melody in her ear and felt him guiding her fingers on the keys.

Christine recognized it instantly. It was the song her father had played almost nonstop after losing her mother. He had never written it down, saying that it always came to him when he needed it, and so it had been lost to memory until now. She smiled through her tears.

"Please, Angel…don't go."


	15. Frail

Inktober 2019 day #8 - Frail (_fallen Angel of Music AU, 100 word drabble_)

* * *

Humans were such frail creatures, made up of little more than dust and a puff of air. Christine was no exception. While the Angel of Music could sing without ceasing, her throat called for water and her muscles for rest. But for all the shortcomings of humanity, she possessed powers an angel never could. Erik could create heavenly melodies; she could create life. She had a free will; he was a servant, his purpose fixed since the beginning of Time. When her appointed hour came, her body would return to the earth, but he would carry her memory for Eternity.


	16. Keeping a secret out of love

Three sentence fic pairing/prompt: E/C, keeping a secret out of love _(Inspired by Elcie's "The Ordinary Life" and basically a Leroux version of my "Elixir of Love")_

* * *

Erik knew where his living wife went when she left their home for hours on end, far longer than needed to attend church or complete a few errands. He also knew his time was running short (another year, perhaps - five if he was being generous) and that the past months with her had been the happiest of his miserable life. So when Christine told him she was expecting a child, pressing his skeletal hand to her belly before embracing him with a smile, he lied and swore that the tears he wept into her golden hair were those of joy.


	17. Tea Party

Three sentence fic pairing/prompt: Mannequin & anyone, tea party _(for benny-lynne/Benjamin Lynne's birthday)_

* * *

Normalcy had a new definition underground, where the mantel clock and Erik's word were the only indications of the time of day or day of the week. It was why Christine scarcely batted an eye to find three places set for afternoon tea instead of two, the third spot occupied by the lifeless form that shared her face.

"I thought it was time for a reintroduction," he purred as he pulled out her chair and she sat obediently, "don't you agree?"


End file.
